


Drop trou

by DeVereWinterton



Series: Phrack Fucking Fridays (PFF) [1]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Crack-ish, F/M, Phrack Fucking Friday, Yes it's early, pff, trousers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-11 01:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16466195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeVereWinterton/pseuds/DeVereWinterton
Summary: A debriefing of sorts.





	1. Jack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of us writers often experience great difficulty when it comes to Jack and his trousers. In general, he tends to refuse to take them off, and if he does, it usually takes him quite a long time. I'm done with his antics. 
> 
> AU, set after Murder and Mozzarella. Somewhere-ish. Consider it an early PFF, as the second chapter should be up by Friday. Hopefully.
> 
> ( [These images](https://omgimsarahtoo.tumblr.com/post/178871940772/toriegirl-geenee27-hismissus) _may_ have served as inspiration for this fic. FOR SCIENCE. This community is corrupting my innocent soul.)

 

Jack closed Wardlow’s front door behind them. He turned around, and Phryne, with a small wry smile, wordlessly took his hat and coat. She hung both items on the mirror coat rack, next to her own, before walking into the warm kitchen, Jack hot on her heels.

It was cold out, and still early, even for Jack’s standards.

Miss Fisher was of the belief that rising at any hour before noon was inhumane.

To be honest, Jack hadn’t been looking forward to escorting Phryne home. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy her company (Lord only knew he liked it far more than he probably ought to), but he was tired, and felt rather grumpy. He was aware that both Compton and Concetta were in their respective pasts but he and Phryne were still re-establishing a balance between the two of them.

It was a precarious situation, and one he planned on handling with care. He and Phryne had gone back to their carefree banter and flirtatious remarks, but still… Not knowing where they stood, exactly, made it feel as though he was standing in the surf; a tidal wave rapidly approaching him and threatening to pull him under. He’d never been particularly fond of the beach.

Well, discounting the time he had seen Miss Fisher in a bathing costume.

As far as mornings went, he had definitely had better ones. Jack had dressed in a hurry; he’d slept through his alarm and had barely risen in time to make it to the station.

The planned raid at the docks had gone pear-shaped; it seemed someone had lagged, and it was now up to Jack to find out if there was someone among his ranks who could not be trusted. As a result of the fracas, a constable - one of Collins’ chums - had been shot in the shoulder, and he had been rushed to hospital.

Jack had allowed himself to be ‘lustfully compromised’ when Miss Fisher had unintentionally distracted him when she retrieved her dagger from her stocking top. He’d stumbled over a crate, and had alerted their targets to the whereabouts of their location. And to top it all off, Jack was very hungry because he’d skipped breakfast. Again.

To put it plainly: he was in a foul mood.

And _then_ there was the matter of a more delicate nature. He supposed he was lucky the rusty hook that had snagged his trouser leg at the warehouse hadn’t cut him any higher.

 

***

 

Phryne busied herself by putting the kettle on; a strong cup of tea would do them good.

Upon arriving back at the house, they’d found it deserted. She supposed Dot was still at church, Mr. Butler had informed her he would be running some errands today, and dear Hugh was at the hospital checking up on his friend.

She noticed a plate on the counter covered by a tea towel. Beside it there was a small note.

 

_‘Miss,_

_I left these scones for you and the Inspector, as I’m sure you’ll both be hungry when you return. There is some marmalade in the pantry._

_Dot’_

 

Phryne smiled. _Sweet girl._ Jack was looking a bit worse for wear, and appeared rather frazzled. If anything, food never failed to improve his demeanor. She covertly watched him from the corner of her eye, standing in front of the stove, and smiled to herself when she noticed he was eyeing the plate with serious intent.

The kettle whistled, and she turned off the gas, then set about making the tea.

 

***

 

Teapot in one hand, the plate of scones topped with marmalade balanced on the other, Phryne approached the table. She regarded Jack for a moment, standing in her kitchen, his broad back turned to her as he looked out the window. He looked quite deliciously rumpled. Not for the first time, she thought to herself, he’d managed to turn leaning into an artform.

She set the plate and teapot on the table. As Jack reached for a scone, something caught her eye, and Phryne looked down and startled.

Her sharp, indrawn breath alerted him to the fact that something might be wrong and he turned his head to look at her.

“Jack! You’re injured,” she said, concern evident in her voice as she nodded at the ruined trousers and the nasty-looking gash on the back of his right thigh.

Jack looked suitably distraught as the opportunity to eat all but disappeared.

“It’s only a scratch, Miss Fisher,” he groused as he straightened, brushing the dirt from his suit. He couldn’t quite reach the tear.

_Bugger._

The cut probably wasn’t deep enough for it to require stitches, but his trousers were torn and she could tell that there was dirt in the wound. Clumps of dried blood caked the edges and pieces of fabric clung to his raw skin.

“I’m not sure if I should be mad at you for insulting my medical expertise or smack your wrist for being such an infuriatingly stubborn man,” she shot back, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Assaulting a police officer, Miss Fisher?" he tsked, shaking his head. "My ‘stubbornness’, as you call it, can hardly be worth an arrest?” he inquired with a tilt of his head.

“That depends, Inspector,” she mused. “Would you clap me in irons?” She stepped closer and fluttered her eyelashes at him. A move no doubt designed to make her look innocent, which achieved the exact opposite. One hand reached for his collar, fingers playing with his tie, the other traced a path down his arm towards his wrist.

“I wouldn’t have thought iron was your style, Miss Fisher.” He grabbed her arm before her hand touched his and marvelled at the way his fingers were able to encircle her dainty wrist. Jack was torn between pushing her hands away - he almost envied her and the way she could set his body aflame with the merest touch - and making a mad dash for the door.

“Well, I have very… _widespread_ tastes, Jack,” she purred, using the momentum he’d created when grabbing her wrist to pull him closer to her, their chests almost touching.

To his credit, Jack did not blush at her remark, but he did feel a faint stirring in his loins. He’d grown accustomed to her teases, but was not immune. He was a red-blooded male, for crying out loud, and not exactly made of stone. The uncensored mental images assaulted his fatigued brain; alabaster skin dewy with perspiration, tightly clenched fists, wrists shackled in his darbys, her naked legs spread wide and tangled in his sheets, that presumably dark, temptingly wet triangle at the--

He coughed.

“I’m sure you do, Miss Fisher,” he agreed, then stepped back and released her hand. Mirth danced in her bright eyes before she turned away from him and started rummaging around in a cupboard. “I shall see myself out.”

“Jack! You’re not leaving?” she asked, surprised as she whipped her head around. She was holding a small bottle of iodine, some gauze and what looked like an old and battered first aid kit.

His face told her that he was, in fact, planning on doing precisely that.

“I haven’t seen to that cut yet.”

“Miss Fisher, really, it--” he protested, but his words fell on deaf ears.

“Drop your trousers so I can take a look,” she stated in a businesslike manner, not even looking at him; she was putting some iodine on a clean piece of cloth she’d procured from the first aid kit.

Jack wondered how often she’d used that phrase during her time as a nurse.

“Pardon?”

“Jack, that cut is _bleeding_ and you’re being unnecessarily difficult. Just take off your trousers and let me see,” she ordered, glaring.

He crossed his arms and his face wore an expression that said ‘ _Make me_.’

She set the iodine and the cloth down on the table, then mirrored his stance and upped the ante by raising an eyebrow.

“Either _I_ can take a look at it for you, or I’ll call Mac and I’ll tell her to leave the anesthetics at the hospital.”

He shuddered at the thought.

“That’s blackmail, Miss Fisher,” he scowled at her.

“Yes, and if pigs could fly, bacon would fall from the sky. Now, trousers, off.”

“I _can't_ ,” he stressed. His jaw was clenched and he was feeling increasingly shifty and cornered, his hands brushing the side of the table.

She often reminded him of a feline predator, and the way she moved around the kitchen was no exception.

“Jack, honestly, I have seen it all before,” she informed him, a slightly teasing lilt at the end of the sentence, but she appeared to be losing her patience with him.

“Not this one,” he snapped without thinking.

He thought he heard her mumble something that sounded remarkably like ‘ _not for lack of trying._ ’

“You can just push them down to your knees if you’re uncomfortable with taking them off completely, Jack,” she placated, sighing audibly at his prudish antics.

“It's not a matter of comfort, Miss Fisher,” he replied stiffly. 

It really wasn't. It was merely a matter of the utmost mortification.

She huffed in annoyance.

“Jack. Drop 'em. Now.”

“ _No_.”

Evidently it was also a matter of principle now.

“Jack, I swear on my Aunt Prudence, if you don't drop them I'll--”

“You'll _what_ , Miss Fisher?” he goaded her, hoping to call her bluff.

“I'll take them off for you,” she informed him triumphantly, chin in the air.

He really should have seen that one coming.

“If anyone removes these trousers, it will be me,” he grunted.

“Oh, I _do_ like a man with a plan, Inspector,” she smirked, raising a suggestive eyebrow and grinning salaciously. His breath caught. “Best get on with it, then,” she told him in clipped tones, and the moment was lost as she waved her hand in the general direction of his groin.

_Gods, the woman was stubborn!_

“I believe I made myself clear, Miss Fisher.”

“Honestly, Jack, if you're worried about anything at all, well, you know, down _there_ ; I promise I won't take a peek,” she whispered, and her tone of voice irked him.

“Miss Fisher...” he warned, blood beginning to boil.

“Really, I'll _try_ to look the other way,” she deadpanned, a sarcastic undertone in her voice. She was really gunning for it now and it was most aggravating. She was trying to get under his skin, he was sure of it. Even more infuriating was the fact that - with his temper being what it was - it was _working_.

“Mind you, if there's something I should know about…” she started, pursing her lips. “There's no need to feel embarrassed if something is not up to--” she purred almost airily.

“I'll have you know everything of importance is functioning properly,” he hissed before he could stop himself. Wounded in more ways than one, he headed towards the doorway that lead to freedom.

Before he could get into the hallway, however, Phryne had stealthily moved up to him and was blocking his way, hands on both sides of the doorframe. He could easily push her away, but that would mean touching her, and he wasn’t quite sure what would happen if he did. He was feeling remarkably close to losing control, and considering he would never hurt a woman in his life, the only alternative was--

“Then what's the bloody problem?!” she cried out, raising her voice.

“You are!”

“Me?! You won’t even let me take care of you!” she yelled, incredulous. “So help me God, Jack Robinson, unless you have a golden quimstick hidden down there, you’d best-- ”

“ _Phryne_ , I’m serious. _Leave_ it,” he snarled, his suddenly husky voice low and menacing.

“So am I, _Jack_. So why don’t you _drop_ it?” she snapped.

Neither were willing to back down and held their ground. They were standing toe to toe, chest to chest, nose to nose. With the next deep breath he took, he was made aware of the slight pressure of her soft breasts against his waistcoat. He bit the inside of his cheek as she shivered - the adrenalin from the raid, anger and desire creating a volatile, heady cocktail.

His nostrils flared in response.

Now, what Phryne Fisher did not know, was that in that moment, Jack Robinson was standing in her kitchen sans underwear.

Having dressed in a rush, realising it was laundry day (it was a Sunday after all) and that he was right out of clean underwear, he’d made a rash decision in the wee hours of the morning before he could even ponder the thought.

He’d stopped ‘going commando’ in public after his younger sister had once pulled his trousers down in front of his childhood crush at the tender age of 7.

He was a grown man now.

“Fine, have it your way then,” he growled definitively, stepping back and grabbing his waistband, his hands moving to his braces.

A moment later, his trousers dropped to the floor with a ‘thump’, and the tinkling sound of some small change falling from his pocket echoed in the kitchen.

 

As she openly gaped at him for over a minute, Jack Robinson finally experienced the distinct pleasure that came from leaving the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher speechless.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This all began with the question ‘Could Jack just go commando one day?’
> 
> (Obviously, the answer is ‘Yes, yes he could.’)
> 
> (I ~~will~~ may add a second chapter with the same occurrences, but different responses, an alternate ending and different POV. Rating may go up.)
> 
> (It will go up.)


	2. Phryne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this is not a continuation of the previous chapter, but an alternative chapter. The same chain of events, similar dialogue (hopefully) but different responses that could lead to a different outcome (okay we all know it will). I've tried to flip the POV for the first two parts, after that it's every man (and woman) for him (and her)self. 
> 
> It also got away from me, as per usual. I considered splitting it into two chapters, but it’s PFF today so I’m sticking with it. Also, RATING WENT UP. Thanks to Allison_Wonderland for the beta!

 

When Phryne took Jack’s coat, it was still warm and smelled of him; sandalwood - _or was it cedar?_ \- a faint trace of sweat mixed with what she presumed was his aftershave and an underlying note of masculine musk that made her feel both grounded and light-headed at the same time. His scent was concentrated near his collar, and she inhaled deeply before placing the coat and his hat on a hook next to the mirror.

She smiled at him, but it was fleeting, a silly attempt to distract herself from the feelings that threatened to bubble up to the surface.

Jack looked tired, mildy haggard and quite worried. She understood, and could almost feel his frustration. He was a man who took his job very seriously and had a great sense of duty, not to mention an enormous sense of responsibility. A constable getting injured on his watch was surely going to be a hard pill to swallow.

A cup of tea was in order. Dot always insisted tea could fix anything. Phryne rather doubted the magical properties of tea leaves, but it was worth a try. Besides, it was cold and horrendously early, and she needed something to chase away the chill from her bones.

This was a large part of the reason why she did not _do_ mornings. Often times it was chilly out, it was altogether far too quiet and her bed was very comfortable. She also had a habit of returning home in the wee hours of the morning and falling exhausted into bed.

Lately, however, her desire for Jack to fall into that bed with her was a feeling that she was finding harder and harder to quell.

Looking at him now - the poor, grumpy sod - she realised today was definitely not going to be that day.

Phryne knew the failure of the planned raid had to be weighing heavily on his mind. Not only had the culprits managed to get away, but an officer had been injured on the job. And to make matters worse; Jack would soon have to deal with interrogating his own officers.

She supposed the fact that he’d given away the location of their hideout by clumsily tripping over a wooden crate hadn't exactly improved his glum mood, either. Whoever had once declared women were the fairer but weaker sex, had obviously underestimated the power of the feminine. To be fair, this morning she might have underestimated it as well, even though she had not meant to distract him from his duties. Well, not this time, anyway. She’d flashed her fair share of thigh (and more) before, and he’d hardly ever batted an eye - much to her own annoyance. Maybe his strong reaction to seeing her ‘bare flesh’ meant that he was finally ready to explore the still uncharted territories of their relationship?

Looking at his slouched form standing in her hallway, she sighed in mild disappointment. _Ah, well_. They were lucky they’d gotten out of there unscathed. That was all that mattered.

 

***

 

As Phryne concerned herself with making tea, Jack turned his back to her to look out of the kitchen window. The garden appeared to be in need of some maintenance. The rose bushes at the back could do with a bit of pruning. Perhaps he could offer Mr. Butler some assistance, next time he saw the dear man.

He wasn’t exactly sure where Miss Fisher’s staff had gone, but he thought it impolite to ask. It wasn't his business to pry - not in his private life, anyway - and unlike a certain raven-haired detective, he had no intention of sticking his nose where it didn't belong. However charming her nose was.

Jack leant back on his heels to take a bit of weight off of his forefeet and knees. Rosie had always considered it to be a bad habit, but with a job that required standing and walking for most part of the day, it gave him a bit of relief to lean back a little. The state of his knees hadn’t quite been the same after all that crouching down during the war. However, the leaning did very little to alleviate the stinging discomfort he felt at the back of his thigh.

He sighed.

Jack heard Phryne putter around the kitchen and he smiled to himself. For a woman who resented domesticity, she was actually making quite an effort to make him feel comfortable. Jack was in a bit of a mood, but he figured a nice cup of hot tea, Phryne’s company and one (or three) of those scones she’d just uncovered would surely improve this abysmal morning.

 

***

 

At Phryne’s startled gasp, Jack turned around to face her. To his dismay, she set the teapot and the plate of scones back down on the counter.

“Jack! You’re hurt,” she observed, worry written all over her face as she pointed at his right leg, her brow furrowed. She hadn’t noticed the gash before because he’d been wearing his coat, but there was no hiding it from her now.

Keeping the wound away from her prying eyes, he decided the best defense was denial. He realised that he would never be able to tend to the cut himself, but he was certain he would be able to figure something out.

“Nothing that nature can't mend, Miss Fisher,” he assured her, downplaying his injury in the hopes that she would drop it as soon as possible.

Then again, this _was_ Miss Fisher, and she _never_ dropped anything.

_Well…_

“Honestly, Jack Robinson, you are as obstinate as a mule,” she admonished as she came to stand in front of him, chin raised defiantly. “Fortunately for you, I happen to know a thing or two about herbal medicine.”

 _Yes, lucky me,_ he thought somewhat sarcastically.

“Another one of your hidden talents, Miss Fisher?” he asked her with a tilt of his head, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“I have _many_ secret abilities, Jack,” she purred, coming to stand even closer. Her nipples tightened sweetly when her silk blouse brushed his chest. Her hand toyed with the top button on his waistcoat. “However, it would require a _thorough_ search of my person to uncover them all,” she finished, peering up at him from underneath those thick, long lashes.

He swallowed.

“I thought you were against lustful compromises during working hours?” he croaked huskily, hesitation audible in his voice.

She _was._ In theory. But she was willing to make an exception if it involved Jack Robinson, his hands, and a thorough search. Those hands gave her _ideas_ that would keep her up at night. What would have happened, had he searched her all those months ago at Madame Fleuri’s salon? Would he have behaved like the stern Detective Inspector, professionalism at the forefront of his mind? Or would he have allowed his hands to roam over her derrière? Would he have cupped her small breasts? Would he at long last have pushed those long fingers between her quivering thighs? Would he have used his darby's on her?

She liked to think he would have.

“It's a good thing I'm never on the clock then, Inspector,” she quipped, moving her hand up to the Windsor knot of his tie. She noticed the sudden bobbing of his Adam’s apple.

“Neither am I, Miss Fisher,” he rumbled. She looked up a little too sharply, hope blooming in her cerulean eyes. He almost felt bad about having to disappoint her. Yet, these were the rules of their game, but at this point Jack was seriously questioning if giving up actually equalled losing. “I am required to work _around_ the clock. Melbourne's underbelly never sleeps,” he informed her with a playful glint in his eyes, and with that, he stepped back.

Phryne let out a quiet scoff and barely resisted the temptation to roll her eyes.

“I'll be heading back to the station, Miss Fisher,” he said. He reached out to take a scone from the plate as he moved towards the doorway. “Will you thanks Miss Williams for the scones?”

“Jack!”

Startled, he dropped the scone. _Damn it!_

“You can't leave!”

He spun around again, and judging by his confused expression and raised eyebrow he clearly wondered why in the hell not.

“You're injured and I need to take a look at it,” she told him as she turned away to open a drawer, worried that if she let him out of her sight for too long, he would all but race to the front door.

Jack wondered how long it would take him to grab his hat and coat and run like the wind. As if reading his mind, Phryne closed the drawer, having retrieved what he assumed was her old first aid kit that she'd used during the war. His heart skipped a beat at the familiar sight.

“Do you need for me to restrain you with that tie?” she teased him, a challenge written in her eyes.

“Now, Miss Fisher, there is no need to make any more sartorial sacrifices on my behalf,” he replied, referring to his ruined trousers.

She muttered _“Not today, no,”_  to herself and hoped he’d heard. 

Judging from the blush that crept up his neck, he had. _Good_.

“Before you so rudely dismissed my generous offer, Inspector, I noticed the blood has clotted severely around the edges of that cut. There are also pieces of fabric in that wound and, if I’m not mistaken, a lot of dirt. At least let me clean it.”

_She really had been a nurse, hadn’t she?_

“Really, Miss Fisher, it isn’t necessary, I--”

“Well, no,” she agreed, and he seemed relieved but wary. “If you plan on never walking again and losing that leg, you’ll be just fine leaving it as it is.”

He glared daggers at her, which she pointedly chose to ignore.

“Why don’t you go and stand by the kitchen table, drop your trousers, and I’ll have a look,” she told him, her attention elsewhere as she rummaged through the first aid kit to retrieve a bottle of iodine and clean pieces of cloth.

“Excuse me?” he stammered, part of him still scandalized after all this time by her lack of propriety.

“Jack, honestly, I… admire your dedication when it comes to propriety, but if it makes you feel any better; I was a nurse and it _may_ come as a surprise, but I can be professional about this,” she said.

“You _can_ , or you _will_?”

She pursed her lips, then sighed audibly.

“Jack. It’s only me,” she placated kindly, and she approached him to place a gentle hand upon his elbow. Her eyes showed genuine concern.

 _That’s the problem,_ he thought wryly. It was never _just_ her. She terrified him with the way she was making him feel. He’d never quite understood how she had always simply been able to break through his defenses. But he’d trust her with his life any day.

“Now, then. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he replied tersely.

“Liar. Clearly you’re hiding something from me,” she accused.

He couldn't contain the short bark of a laugh that escaped him. Yes, he was hiding something from her. And for good reason, too.

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at him.

“Does this _amuse_ you, Inspector?” she queried, unable to hide the annoyance from her voice.

“Hardly, Miss Fisher.” He hadn't been this amused since 1914.

“Jack. Just drop your trousers and let me clean that cut,” she demanded.

“I'll see to it myself when I get home,” he said, changing tactics.

“Don't be ridiculous. You can’t even reach it!” she cried out, incredulous.

“If that turns out to be the case, I shall contact Doctor MacMillan.”

“Why?” she asked sharply, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Because she is a physician who--” he started.

“No, Jack. Why won’t you let ME take care of you?”

“This has nothing to do with--”

“Oh, yes it does. Is this your male ego getting in the way?” she snapped.

She was standing close again. Too close. Close enough for him to feel the puffs of her hot breath on his face. Her breasts rose and fell with her shallow breaths and it was awfully distracting. He caught a whiff of her perfume.

“I’m not going to dignify that question with an answer, Miss Fisher,” he growled through clenched teeth, nearly at the end of his rope

“Then what’s the bloody problem?!” she cried out

“Damn it, Phryne! I’m not wearing any underwear!” he roared as he slammed his fist on the kitchen table. His voice ricocheted off the walls of her kitchen.

It wasn't often that someone actually managed to stun Phryne Fisher into complete silence.

 

***

 

It took Phryne a few deep breaths to process this new piece of information as her eyes dropped to the now decidedly offending garment that were his trousers.

She slowly raised an intrigued eyebrow and managed to look both suitably impressed and smug at the same time.

She raised her eyes to look at Jack; he seemed to shrink in on himself.

“Excuse me, Inspector? Did you just say you--”

“You heard me, Miss Fisher,” he muttered, obviously mortified, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets.

“I believe they heard you in Richmond, Jack,” she deadpanned, chuckling.

He scowled at her.

“Why, though?” she asked.

“Miss Fisher… not this again,” he sighed exasperatedly, a blush high on his cheeks.

“No, no.” She shook her head. “What I meant was; why are you… well… _sans sous-vêtement_?”

“If you must know; I overslept and was rather in a hurry this morning,” he confessed, his brow wrinkled.

She nodded slowly, intrigued.

“That doesn't explain why you aren't wearing underwear, Inspector.” There was a small smirk on her lips.

“It doesn't?” he asked before he could stop himself. He was consumed by equal parts of curiosity and fear; he often felt like this when he was around Miss Fisher.

“No. You could've simply worn the underwear you wore to bed… unless…” she trailed off, eyes glazing over.

Suddenly she gasped in delight.

Jack blushed red to the tips of his ears.

_Damn her quick, inquisitive mind!_

“Jack Robinson! You naughty man!” Her eyes sparkled with amusement and mischief.

Jack looked positively indignant and oozed embarrassment from every pore.

After the divorce had come through, he decided it was no longer necessary to wear anything to bed during the hot summer nights. This had become his habit, and he’d preferred to sleep _au naturel_ ever since. He liked to consider it his tiny act of rebellion against nobility and propriety. Also, there was something to be said for the feeling of soft sheets against one’s skin.

“Why are you so embarrassed? I do it all the time,” she confessed almost airily, snapping the Inspector out of his reverie.

Jack blinked.

Then swallowed thickly.

“You… you do?” he whispered, desperately ignoring the mental images that popped up.

“Yes, Inspector,” she confirmed, straightening his tie. “I just _love_ the feeling of a gentle breeze on my skin. Don’t you?”

Jack tried not to be completely mortified and terribly aroused by this confession, to no avail. The idea that she might not have been wearing underwear (or ‘usually lingerie’) immediately inspired all kinds of fantasies. The fact that she might have sat next to him, or stood outside without… He wondered if it excited her, if the breeze on her most intimate of places aroused her, made her wet…

“I really couldn't say, Miss Fisher.” His delivery was so dry, they could have used it to start a fire. He coughed awkwardly.

She dismissed his reply with a small shake of her head.

“Well, either way: the trousers still have to go, Jack,” she informed him, all traces of amusement gone from her voice.

He grunted out a scoff.

“Just turn around and face the table, and this will all be over in no time,” she said as she grabbed a piece of cloth from the kit and turned on the tap to wet it.

His eye twitched imperceptibly.

“Jack, I only want to help you,” she said, voice serious and sincere.

Jack nodded stiffly.

As she turned to face the wall - giving him a small modicum of privacy - he acquiesced to her request by taking off his jacket, unbuttoning his braces and dropping his trousers to his ankles with a soft ‘thump’.

 

***

 

When Phryne turned around, she was greeted by the sight of Jack Robinson, standing with his back turned to her, facing the kitchen table, his lower half exposed.

She was almost unable to suppress the groan that threatened to leave her mouth.

She had to remind herself to be professional about this. Jack had placed his trust in her, and she couldn't mess it up just because he happened to have the most beautifully sculpted arse in the history or arses.

But what an arse it was.

And the way those thighs looked… it was… it was just _rude_.

Phryne had had her fair share of handsome men in her bed, but none were as handsome as Jack, simply because _they weren’t Jack_. At some point she realised she’d started comparing other men to him. It was hardly their fault that she found them all lacking. Jack was more to her than just a pretty package. It was what was inside that incredibly handsome package that mattered to her, more than anything.

The fact that he was gorgeous was simply a very welcome bonus.

She approached him, clean wet cloth in the one hand, a tray with iodine and gauze in the other. She saw him tense up momentarily when she set down the tray on the wooden cabinet behind them, then heard him release a breath as he visibly tried to relax.

“Don’t worry Jack, this won’t hurt a bit,” she quipped as she crouched down to examine the cut.

He let out a snort, an attempt to disguise his growing discomfort.

When she was at eye level with the wound, she realised the cut was surprisingly straight; no jagged edges, and cleaning it was quite easy compared to the things she’d seen to during the war. It wasn't deep enough to require stitches. It had just bled like a stuck pig and the amount of dirt on that hook hadn't helped.

As she cleaned the wound with the wet cloth, Jack didn’t make a sound. However, when she dabbed the cut with iodine to disinfect it and to get rid of the final bits of dirt, he hissed. As he did so, he tensed his gluteal muscles and for a second, Phryne was distracted.

She quickly regained her composure, schooling her features into a neutral expression and forcing herself to get through this without compromising this darling man.

Grabbing a piece of sterile gauze from the tray, she used it to cover the wound, then secured it with bandages. As she applied the final bandage, she inadvertently brushed the crease underneath his right buttock with her thumb. Unexpectedly, goosebumps erupted all over his skin. Fascinated, she repeated the action which resulted in a mild shiver, combined with a slight arch of his back

“Phryne...” he gasped, voice low and gravelly. She noticed the almost infinitesimal bucking of his hips.

At the sound of his voice, she paused. She knew the buttocks could be an erogenous zone, but never in her life had she expected for Jack Robinson to react like this.

_He really was a bit of a dark horse..._

Professional intent all but forgotten, she felt awfully intrigued all of a sudden.

“Jack?” she whispered, her voice filled with wonder and many unspoken questions.

“I, I don’t know if--” His deep groan as she softly raked a single fingernail over his right arse cheek shot straight down to her cunt, and her inner muscles clenched in unexpected desperation and stimulation. His voice was so dark that she could feel her body respond to his words alone.

“Almost done,” she whispered. She leaned in and softly breathed on his skin, pleased to note when he shivered again. His scent was quite strong here, and it clouded her judgement.

“Miss Fisher, I--” he grunted, desperation evident in his voice.

Phryne got up from her crouched position behind him and gently cupped his arse.

He gasped.

“Does this feel good, Jack?”

He nodded, unable to speak, head slumped forward as he placed his hands on the table.

She felt her own breathing get shallower. His buttocks were very firm and muscular. As she gently squeezed and teased him, she decided she really ought to buy him a new bicycle.

Wanting to feel even closer to him, she daringly and carefully pressed herself against his broad back - making sure to avoid putting pressure on the wound. His sigh was almost audible. Moving her arms around him to embrace his lean frame from behind, she was quite shocked to find that he’d wrapped his right hand around his cock. He wasn't moving his hand but from the rigidity of his wrist, it felt as though he really wanted to.

Jack’s eyes fluttered shut as he felt Phryne’s lips next to his ear, her breaths hot on his skin. Her tongue darted out to trace the crest and curve of his ear. When her teeth bit his earlobe, he moaned.

She wanted to see him, but the need to touch him overrode everything else.

“Let me take care of you, Jack,” she murmured against the skin of his neck.

Jack wasn't sure if he would ever be able to speak again, but what he did know was that in this moment, he wanted Phryne Fisher to touch him.

When his hand dropped away from his length, Phryne slicked her fingers in her mouth. Dry handjobs were never ideal, but this would have to do. Not being able to see, she settled for gently feeling around until she could place her hand around the base of his hot, pulsating arousal, finding the fact that she could not quite wrap her fingers around him incredibly arousing. 

She stroked up, tracing the veins on the underside of his stiff cock, noticing the slight curve of his length. When she reached his already slick cockhead, she rubbed him and he groaned. Filing this piece of information away for later use, she continued to massage his shaft in slow, languid strokes. Her other hand found its way to his hip, feeling the muscles there as he tried not to buck against her hand.

“Phryne, I--” he started, but he lost his train of thought on a particularly hard downward stroke.

“Show me how, Jack,” she breathed.

He was blushing profusely by now, she could tell, but that did not deter him from placing his hand on top of hers to show her how he liked to be stroked. When she caught on, he threw his head back - leaning against her - and pressed down on his balls with the heel of his hand. His breathing was sharp and shallow.

He let go of her hand, allowing her free reign of his pleasure. She knew instantly that this was important, that someone like Jack would not easily allow another person to have control over his body. In a way, they were quite similar in that respect.

Phryne used his broad back to rest her cheek on, and she could feel his ragged breathing. His chest was heaving and he was breathing hard; it reminded her of bellows. She was incredibly aroused herself, but wanted to see to Jack’s pleasure first. If this was all she was going to get from him, she’d take it in a heartbeat.

“Don’t stop,” he panted hotly, clutching the edge of the table with his large hands.

“Never, Jack,” she promised, and she meant it. She didn't think she could ever stop loving him.

She flicked her clever, sharp tongue against the pulse point in his throat.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” he growled, his hoarse voice causing her stomach to flip. She inhaled sharply, feeling herself become instantly wet. She could feel her intimate flesh swelling with an almost painful need.

The sound of her hand moving over his slick, heated flesh and the heady scent of his desire filled the small room.

“Gods, Jack,” she breathed in his ear. “I wish I could see you. I wish I could watch your beautiful face as I stroke you.”

She wished she could touch herself as she stroked him, but not yet.

A strangled moan escaped his throat. She could tell he was holding back from the way the muscles in his pelvis tensed, and how his hips would buck sharply whenever he was unable to control the impulse. It aroused her greatly to see him on the verge of losing his control.

“I long to take you into my mouth, Jack Robinson,” she moaned, then bit his shoulder through his crisp, white shirt.

Jack groaned loudly.

“Would you let me?” she asked, soothing the sore spot with her tongue, wetting the fabric. “I want to know how you taste.”

Jack’s breathy moan was strangled as he imagined her plump, red lips, wrapped around his cock and all of a sudden he felt terribly close to coming in her hand.

“I want to know how you feel.”

Her right hand squeezed his hardness.

“And how you sound… when you come for me.”

He growled as he helplessly thrust into her hand. Phryne tightened her grip on his engorged penis and he let out a whine that otherwise would have embarrassed him. The rhythm of her strokes sped up.

“Would you like that, Jack?”

His unintelligible moan told her that, _yes_ , yes he would like that.

“Or would you rather come… inside me?” she panted in his ear, voice so filthy and deep, it was barely audible.

Suddenly she could feel him tensing. His spine arched into a sensual curve, his buttocks clenched and pressed into her groin, his head fell back. One of his large hands blindly reached behind him to grab her hip, his fingertips digging into her arse. He let out a guttural groan that might have started out as her name, as hot spurts of his thick release hit the kitchen table.

 

***

 

The first thing Jack became aware of after losing consciousness were the soft, almost innocent kisses that Phryne was gently placing at the nape of his neck.

Phryne gently stroked Jack’s still half-hard cock as he floated back down to earth. By the time he could feel his feet, she’d cleaned him and the table up with the wet cloth and had tucked him back into his trousers. She’d even managed to do them up without him noticing.

When he became fully aware of his surroundings, she was standing next to him, almost nonchalantly leaning against the table.

The only things that gave away what they’d just been up to, were her heavy breathing and her dilated pupils.

Jack Robinson was looking at her as though he was seeing her for the first time, but at the same time, he looked like a man who had seen all of her secrets and flaws and still loved her, regardless. It was something she could get used to.

In the next breath, he was kissing her, holding her close and gently prying her lips open with his tongue. The kiss was almost sloppy in its desperation, but not any less loving. It was a kiss filled with contentment and desire, astonishment and gratefulness.

When he released her, he looked deep into her eyes. Her breath caught at the intensity of his gaze.

Jack gave her a tilted grin and her cunt fluttered at the familiarity of his expression. He stroked one large hand down her side and squeezed her bottom.

“Now, Miss Fisher, I believe it is time for a little role reversal,” he rumbled deep in his chest, a playful twinkle in his deep blue eyes as he lifted her onto the sturdy table. She spread her thighs and he came to stand between them.

“Oh, Jack! I never took you as one for roleplay. Another mystery! How delightful,” she teased, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He attempted a scowl and missed the mark by a mile.

“You must allow me to return the favour. It is only right I get to take care of _you_ , now,” he announced.

She _really_ wasn't going to argue the point.

Jack was already kissing his way down her neck and pulled up her skirts almost simultaneously. Before she knew it or had expected it, his long fingers were brushing her damp curls. When he pushed one long finger inside her molten head, they both groaned.

Jack was hardly surprised to find that she, indeed, had forgone to wear underwear as well.

“Well, Inspector, if you _insist_ ,” she panted breathlessly.

He left the heel of his hand against her mound and rubbed against her swollen clit as he pushed a second finger inside her. She groaned, panting wildly.

“Oh I do, Miss Fisher. I do.”

 


End file.
